Monthly Archives: October 2016

Coffee Date !

Coffee Date!

A coffee date! So you want to take me out for a cup of coffee; a coffee date. You want our first date to be at Starbucks, or maybe at Peet’s Coffee, or the Coffee Bean. I get that you don’t know me yet, and maybe you don’t want to waste a bunch of money on a girl you don’t know – but geez – coffee? A coffee date?

I recently met a very handsome Italian man at an event I attended. You know when you meet someone, and there is that ‘instant’ chemical attraction – that animal attraction? Well, I rarely have that, but on this night, when I least expected it, I met a tall, athletically built, educated, polished, Italian investment banker named Nico. Over the course of the evening, we ran into each other a few times, and engaged in flirtatious chit-chat to the point that he asked me for my number. The next day he started to text me right away, telling me how nice it was to meet me, how attractive he found me, and how sweet I seemed – saying all the right things; and he asked when we could get together. I was pretty busy with work, and, well, my life in general, but I told him that I had some time Thursday evening, and could meet him anywhere in the Beverly Hills or West Hollywood area. He was free that evening as well, and we made a plan to meet at 7:30 pm, and he said he would get back to me with the ‘where to meet’ on Thursday.

Wow, that was pretty painless, we had a …DATE!

Now for the men out there who are reading this: when we, as women, have a date – a date that starts at 7:30 pm – we know that it is too late for a happy hour, so we assume that means drinks and appetizers, or maybe even dinner. And being that it is our first date, and from the outside you appear to be what might be considered to be an actual contender compared to some of the weirdos that approach us on line, we want to make sure that we make a good impression on the first date.

So, as it was Monday, I knew I had a couple of days to prepare for my ‘Thursday night date with the hot Italian’. Life is busy, especially in a city like LA, but that gave me a couple of days to orchestrate everything I needed to do to get prepared for my big first date – as we all know, that a first impression, is a lasting impression.

My ‘hot date orchestration’went something like this:

….hmm… It’s Monday, okay so I better clean my place tonight, just in case, for some reason I let him drive me home and he wants to see where I live, I better make sure it looking ‘mint’…because…

…Tuesday night I need to go shopping after work, I want to find shoes to go with the new dress I bought last week, as I have been dying to wear it; or… hmm, maybe I need to find a cute top to go with my jeans and boots in case we go casual…Regardless, I need to shop on Tuesday…. because….

… Wednesday night I have to do a Mani-Pedi; I can’t have chipped polish on a first date, and I want my polish to be fresh and pretty – in case I wear open-toed shoes with my jeans for the casual look, or if I can’t find the right pair of shoes to go with the new dress and I end having to wear my ‘standard black Prada shoes that I wear friggin’ everywhere’ – then my toes better look good too ….because….

….Thursday night is date night, and I need everything ready because by the time I get home I will just have enough time to shower, change and actually put on make-up. Plus on Thursday, I have made a hair appointment to have my hair blown out during my lunch break, so I don’t have ‘Janell hair’, instead I will have luscious long silky smooth ‘I just got a blow-out hair’ to go with my pretty nails and awesome outfit…..

So NOW do you see why my first available day was THURSDAY?

Finally, it’s Thursday Night, and I am ready! Of course, Nico the Italian, has been texting me every day with cute little texts, in anticipation of our big date on Thursday, flirtatious little texts, even texts verging on ‘sextie little texties’ ….Yep…IT’S ON!!!!

So, as I pull into my underground parking, I hear my text messenger going off, and as get into the elevator, and have a hand free to respond, I look down at my iPhone to see bubbles bubbling under Nico’s name, and my heart starts to pound in excitement and curiosity wondering where we will be meeting and…..

When the bubbles finally stop bubbling, as I look down wondering where my first romantic kiss with Nico will be, I see the words … Let’s meet for a cuppa Joe @ The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf @ 445 N Beverly Bvld BH, can’t wait to see u ….Okay, so I see the words, yet I re-read them several times, thinking there must be more bubbly words coming from Nico? Did he mistype? Did his auto-correct auto-fill in for him? Was this just a text message gone wrong? But when no more bubbles came, I knew that meant he was waiting for my response, and I had to accept that, that, it was what it was, ugh, a coffee date.

A coffee date! He wants to meet me for a coffee date; my first date, a coffee date! Okay, I know what you are thinking; he never clarified what exactly you would be doing at 7:30 pm, so you can’t blame the guy for wanting to grab a coffee. But FUCK! If he had told me up front that he wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee, honestly I would have likely said…NO!

Why? Why NO you ask? Are you a Diva, or a Gold-Digger or a Beatch? Okay… well….

Firstly, I only drink coffee in the morning, before 8 am, because if I have any amount of caffeine after that time, I will never sleep at night. Who the fuck goes out for coffee at 7:30 pm? (Oh, he’s Italian, ugh, I forgot.)

Secondly, going for coffee means to me, that I am going as I am, no fuss no muss. That means, Janell is showing up in a pony-tail, jeans and sneakers, with no make-up, except maybe some lip gloss, basically ‘au natural on steroids’ – picture that look! That is my gym look, my work look, and believe me, that look is definitely an ‘acquired-taste kind of a look!’ It’s not a first date look, definitely NOT, I need to keep that look hidden for several dates, several dates until the guy is completely hooked before I unveil that look!

So THEREFORE: I would have said NO to a coffee date for a first date!

So now I am irritated that my romantic date – or at least the one I imagined for the past four days in my head – is reduced to a coffee date, and I start to annoyingly stomp around in my place, having a mini-tantrum thinking that I just wasted $34 dollars on a Mani-Pedi, and $40 on a blow-out, and bought a new top and spent one whole evening cleaning my place like my name is Mrs. Clean; and on top of that it is 6pm, and it’s a bit late to say NO. So how the HELLLLLL do I respond to his text?

That is when two of my friends came in very handy. The first, I like to call her CABERNET, and I poured myself a big glass and started to sip and relax and, when I was finally calm enough to enunciate words, I called one of my single girlfriends – one of my single girlfriends who was in the loop about my hot date with the Italian, one who was also almost excited for my date as I was; because, if one of us actually finds a real man in LA, then….Halleluiah, it reassures us that real men are still fucking out there, giving all of us single girls a glimmer of hope.

Sometimes all a girl needs is a good glass of wine and a good friend; and after a three minute conversation with the two of them, I not only felt better, but I had a plan. I texted him back, ‘Great, see u there!’

Within 30 minutes, I was ready to walk out the door: hair perfect, nails perfect, make-up perfect, wearing my tight skinny jeans, sexy – yet impossible to walk in – high heel shoes, and a cleavage enhancing and somewhat revealing top. As I stood in front of my full length mirror checking out my look, sipping the last bit of my large glass of Cabernet, I came to the conclusion that I looked hot, damn hot. I mean, I think I would even do me!

And as I got in my Uber, Nico sent a text saying he was there and did I want him to order me anything? I responded “Sure, I would love some bottled water.” And five minutes later my Uber pulled up to the Coffee Bean, and I could see Nico and my water sitting there waiting for me. The place was almost empty, so we didn’t have any trouble spotting each other (duh, yeah, I am not the only one who doesn’t drink coffee at 7:30 pm). I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting a sexy Janell, and as a side note, I was dressed extremely classy at the event that I met him at, but I could tell by the way his eyes stared at me, that he was digging my sexy side.

The wine had relaxed me, and I poured on my Janell charm, and regaled him with stories, laughing and enjoying his company, but at 8:30pm, my phone started to blow up. Ahhh, my plan was in motion, my girlfriend texted me saying she was on her way to Craig’s, and that she would save me a seat at the bar.

As I got up to leave, thanking Nico for my ‘water’, and giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek, he seemed a bit confused. So I told him the truth: that when I realized that he only had time to grab a quick cup of coffee, I had made plans to grab dinner with a friend, as I was hungry and food was also a friend of mine.

Off to Craig’s I happily skipped, met up with Girlfriend, and we hung out with two other friends we call Chardonnay and Pinot Noir, flirted, met some nice guys, got some great Instagram shots, and had a blast.

And of course, Nico texted me back the next day, wanting to know when I was free to do dinner….

But the truth is, as handsome as he was, I found him a bit dull, and if we had gone out for the romantic dinner as I initially had hoped, I would have been let down regardless.

The universe always ultimately gives you what you need, and for now, its friends and Cabernet. And guess what, that’s not so bad!

And the moral of this Coffee Date story is:

Always clarify what a date means, because this avoids: you getting let down, getting unrealistic expectations set too high, wasting hard earned money – or most importantly – your very precious time. Don’t be afraid to communicate! If you piss the other person off by asking, then they aren’t the right one for you.

Guys…if you had the balls to call us on the phone and get to know us, then the likelihood of miscommunication would be greatly diminished. Don’t be afraid to speak with actual words, romanticism and chivalry is missing in our modern day life. I would love to hear your voice over seeing your happy faced emoticon. We are all LOST IN TEXTATION!

And always be grateful for friends, Girlfriends, and wine. I pick wine any day over a coffee date, but, well, then that is what makes me ME!

Creepy Handshake Dude

Creepy Handshake Dude

Creepy Handshake, have you ever gotten one? Please don’t confuse a creepy handshake with a sweaty palm handshake, or a limpy-wimpy handshake, or a held-too-long handshake; a creepy handshake is in a league all of its own. What is a creepy handshake? Let me set the stage a little…..

Last week, I attended a fabulous Hollywood party at a mansion in Beverly Hills. The weather was beautiful and my Girlfriend (who I went to the party with) and I were having fun, sipping champagne and daintily munching on the bite-size hors d’oeurves that the catering staff kept tempting us with; a perfect end to another beautiful day in sunny Los Angeles.

As we wandered around, mixing and mingling with the various peeps in attendance, my Girlfriend suddenly noticed that the world famous LA BILLIONAIRE was present, and she made a beeline to go meet him, with me following behind. She made her way up to him, which was not entirely easy, as he was flanked by his entourage of minions that he brought along to make sure that no one would get near him – which if you really think about it, is an odd dichotomy in and of itself. I mean, why go to a party if you are going to isolate yourself from everyone? Anyway, her blonde-sexy-self must have made an impression on LA BILLIONAIRE, as the waves of minions parted giving her just enough room to sidle up against him and introduce herself.

I stood behind her, sipping my champagne, and after he refused to get a picture with her, she turned around and said, “Oh, and this is my friend Janell”. LA BILLIONAIRE looked me dead in the eyes, giving me that look – that come hither ‘I want to do you look’ – and said, “We have met before, haven’t we?” I shook my head and said “No”, but then it dawned on me that two years ago I had met him at a charity golf event, and said, “Well, actually I did meet you at a charity golf event a couple of years ago.”

As he held his stare directly at me, I reached out my hand to shake his hand, and….he did it. He gave me the creepy handshake. As the palm of his hand touched my palm, and while his eyes were fixated into my eyes, his middle finger started to quickly vibrate back and forth on the palm of my hand.

He, he, he …FINGERED the palm of my hand! He molested my hand!

And the whole time while he was fingering the palm of my hand, he was giving me that look; that look like he would like to finger other parts of my body. You know the look, the look like he would like to put his manly bits into various orifices of my girlie bits. And, it didn’t turn me on. It didn’t make me want to ‘do it’, or ‘do him’, or ‘do anything’ with LA BILIONAIRE. It did, however, make me flee to the nearest restroom to thoroughly wash my hands, as WHO KNOWS WHERE HIS FINGER HAD BEEN?

I am sorry, but getting the creepy handshake isn’t a turn-on. It is, as its name implies (Okay, so the name I gave it!) – Creepy. The worst part of this creepy LA BILLIONAIRE handshake experience, was that it brought back a memory that I had repressed; a somewhat traumatic repressed memory. You see, LA BILLIONARE wasn’t the first to finger my sweet palm.

FLASHBACK TO……

Fifteen years ago, when I was leaving the Beverly Hilton with my then boyfriend – my six foot six, husky, mobster-looking boyfriend – a FAMOUS POLITICIAN passed us by as we exited the elevator. Ex-boyfriend – who had a boisterous and gregarious personality – stopped FAMOUS POLITICIAN, introduced himself and started to engage in a conversation with him. FAMOUS POLITICIAN was very polite, and gave my ex-boyfriend a minute or so of his time as I stood silently beside him, somewhat gobsmacked that my ex-boyfriend had the courage to pursue a conversation with FAMOUS POLITIAN, while at the same time mesmerized by being in FAMOUS POLITICIAN’s presence.

As FAMOUS POLITICIAN excused himself, in order to disengage from this unexpected verbal exchange, he looked at me and stuck out his hand to introduce himself to me as well. I felt so honored that FAMOUS POLITICIAN wanted to meet me, and as he looked intently into my eyes, and as I extended my hand to shake his, FAMOUS POLITIAN slide in the creepy handshake move, and fingered my palm while telling me how nice it was to meet me.

I was a bit traumatized by the handshake, and sat silently listening to ex-boyfriend talk about what a great guy FAMOUS POLITICIAN was as we drove away from the Beverly Hilton. A great guy, until I told ex-boyfriend what FAMOUS POLITICIAN had done. And then, I spent the rest of the night trying to keep ex-boyfriend from going back to the Hilton to track down FAMOUS POLITICIAN and rip his head off.

So the night after I received my creepy handshake number 2, I was headed to an art gallery opening with a different girlfriend, crammed into the back seat of her Porsche 911 as her Guy Friend –who is 6 foot 4, and extremely handsome – won the place in the passenger’s seat for the night, as his legs were definitely longer than mine. From the back seat, I started to tell them about my escapades of the night prior, and how LA BILLIONAIRE had slipped in the creepy handshake move.

To my surprise, my Girlfriend had never experienced a creepy handshake in her life. For some reason I thought this must be a ‘male thing to do’, and assumed every girl had experienced this cheesy move at some point. Suddenly, I was glad that I was trapped in the back seat, as I felt embarrassed for telling my story, feeling like I was a magnet for loser-cheeseball-men. Then, Guy Friend came to my rescue, when he piped up from his comfy position in the front seat and said that, he too, had experienced the creepy handshake.

He went on to tell us that a few years back, when he was promoting a club, a club patron came up to him, and engaged in conversation with him and slid in the creepy handshake move. Guy Friend assumed that the guy must have been Gay, and that was his way of hitting on him to see if he might be interested in playing ball for a different team, so to speak.

He reaffirmed to my friend that the creepy handshake move was creepy, disturbing, and something that he had put out of his memory until I decided to regale everyone on the way to the gallery with my tales of woe from the previous night. He said that the creepy handshake move was so disturbing to him, that he had filed it in that ‘never to be thought of again’ file in his brain. A file that had been permanently shut until my big mouth started to make conversation from my crammed position in the back seat of a Porsche.

We continued the dialogue after the gallery opening while wolfing down our tacos at El Coyote, and we all came to the same conclusion: creepy handshakes come from creepy people, and it doesn’t matter how much money one makes, or one’s position in society, or one’s sexual preferences – any unwanted sexual overtures are UNWANTED, and disturbing to the recipient.

So the moral of the story is:

Never assume because someone is rich or famous that you are free from unwanted sexual advances – on the contrary, their position most likely makes them feel untouchable (Hello Bill Cosby!).

For all the people out there who think the creepy handshake move is a turn- on, news flash – it is a turn-off!

And, like the Girl Scouts motto states to ‘Always be Prepared’ – so make sure to have a travel size of antibacterial gel just in case your palm gets slimed, because remember – you never know where that finger has been!

Hey! I am GOING FOR IT ! This week’s post is a video post; and you may have wondered (or not) why I have slowed down a bit on the posting of my Hollywood tales. It’s not because I have been out partying it up in Hollywood (okay, well, somewhat guilty on that account) but, rather, because I have been working on another project, one that is terribly dear to my heart. I am going to self-publish my first novel. It is a story about the love between a dog and his human, and anyone who really knows me, even for a minute, knows that I had a little dog named Canoli: a little puppy that became my baby, my family, and my heart, when I moved to Los Angeles. I learned more about life, love, compassion, forgiveness and understanding from that little puppy than I have from any other human being I have encountered along this journey we call life. I will fill you in on more details as the process continues. I hope you enjoy the video.

And remember, in life, taking chances and GOING FOR IT is not always an easy thing to do! But if we don’t try, we will never know what would have happened if we did. Thank you all for following my blog! Until next week, kisses!

WheatFieldsToWonderland GOING FOT IT video below!

Dating the Broke Boy

Last week, I was having dinner with a work colleague, and our waiter – who was unbelievably cute and charming – was hitting on me. My colleague was egging me on to give him my number, and when I told him that I really didn’t want to date a waiter, he accused me of being a snob and an elitist.

So naturally, I felt the need to defend myself from his surly accusations. I started to explain that the waiters in LA are mostly all good looking, as the majority of them are struggling actors waiting for their ‘lucky break’; and if all I wanted was cute and hot, then I would be leaving my digits along with my tip at half of the eating establishments that I frequent.

As he shrugged his shoulders and said “Sooo cute and hot has to be better than NOTHING, and right now you have… NOTHING!” “Why not just enjoy what the universe is pointing in your direction, I mean, why not just date what is in front of you now?” I thought for a second, hesitating as I searched my mind for a way to explain to him why that didn’t work for me, and in an effort to clear up the snobby and elitist impression he had of me, I decided to tell him the story of – Harrison.

Harrison – the Broke Boy …

A few years ago, I kept running into this tall, handsome, athletically built man as we both walked our dogs around the same time each morning and night. It was hard to miss him and his scraggily dog, as each time we got close, his mangy mutt tried to kill my sweet little dog, Canoli.

Whenever our paths would cross, his dog would fiercely tug at his leash any time we got within 30 feet of them. Then, with his canine-teeth tightly clenched, he would hiss a loud warning hiss, until we were within chomping range, and the dog would bark ferociously and try to bite off bits of Canoli, as I desperately tried to pull Canoli the other direction – or carry him – in order to avoid a tragedy from occurring.

So, when I was picking up take-out one night, and when a handsome man at the bar gave me a wave, I was shocked as I got closer to discover that the wave had come from – the canine killer’s owner. He was definitely an attractive man, and as I sat beside him waiting for my order to arrive, our conversation went beyond our normal ‘how to keep our dogs from killing each other’ conversation. I found out that he was well educated, a Harvard Grad, and had a medical degree. His father was a famous physician who worked solely with Olympic athletes. There was a definite attraction between us, and by the time my food had arrived, he had my number.

He called the next day to see if I wanted to get together with him, and I decided that maybe an early happy hour at one of my favorite places at the time – The Hamburger Hamlet – would be an easy location to meet. Plus, happy hour meant that I would not be stuck with him the entire night if the date wasn’t going well. He thought the plan was great and I met him there two nights later.

The date went extremely well. We had an intellectual connection, a physical connection, we were playful together – the energy between us was magical. He told me that he had decided against becoming a doctor, and had a series of inventions and projects he was trying to get off the ground. I silently wondered who would go to medical school and decide not to practice medicine, but whatever – he was smart and hot!

He offered to drive me home – as I had taken a cab in anticipation of indulging in some happy hour libations – and even though I normally wouldn’t accept a ride with a virtual stranger, I made an exception as, I was already smitten. He had not valeted his car, which I found a bit odd as it was only $5 to valet during Happy Hour, and instead we walked to his car.

‘Maybe it was a fancy car that he didn’t want the valet to ding’ I thought to myself as we walked the two blocks to his car – hand in hand – me barely able to wait for my first kiss. As we approached a late model Ford Explorer – one that looked like it had been torched in an accident yet somehow was still drivable – I was shocked when he stopped at it. He then very chivalrously went and opened the passenger door for me to enter. However, even though he opened the door for me, he still had to crawl in first, as that was the only way to access the drivers’ side of the car, as the driver’s door lock was also broken.

I was now really perplexed. A well-educated man, with a wealthy dad, who was driving a ‘beyond a beater’ of a car – something didn’t fit right in my mind. But I was attracted, intrigued, and the good-night kiss was magical.

Over the next month, I got to know Harrison. He was eccentric and brilliant, but at 38 he was still chasing his tail and he had finally come clean with me that his father gave him a monthly allowance that he lived off of. (Ewe!) The allowance paid his rent, and money for food, but it just covered the basics.

So, we spent most of the time at my place (as he lived, as it turned out, in a small studio apartment). Let’s just say my cooking skills increased dramatically that month, I caught up on all of my movies I had Tivo’d, and hiking became our new ‘shared activity’. I had accepted the fact that I was dating a broke boy, but at least he embodied a hot and sexy kind of a broke boy.

After about 4 weeks of playing house, I was getting cabin fever and really wanted a night out, and as he had just received his monthly allowance he said that he, too, was excited to go out, and he wanted to treat me to dinner at his favorite restaurant. As such, I got glammed up, excited for an evening out.

As we pulled up to Molly Malone’s Irish Pub – me in a cocktail dress and high heels – I wondered why the hell he hadn’t mentioned to me that we were going to a casual pub when he saw how I was dressed? Regardless, I didn’t make a fuss, even when we looked at the menu and he said that he had enough money for us to either each get a burger and fries, or we could split a burger and he could have a beer and I could get a wine. Splitting a burger – past the age of 16 errrr – seemed a bit lame, but I decided that I really needed alcohol or I wasn’t going to make it through the date.

Okay, so I am definitely not a ‘gimme gimme’ kind of girl. But that night, when I went home I started to mentally calculate how much I had spent the past month on extra groceries, and how much I had splurged on paying for New Release movies from On Demand, I started to get a little pissed and annoyed as the scales of fairness were definitely tipping in his favor. Regardless, I decided to continue to see him – my broke boy – as I did like him, and wished that one of his ‘big projects’ might take off as he had hoped. But this night had left me thinking and, whether I realized it or not, I was starting to keep a list in my head of ‘reasons to flee’ this broke boy kind of a list.

The next thing that made the ‘reasons to flee list’ was the night that he came over – on the late side – as he said he had been feeling sick all day. As he cuddled in next to me, he said some soup might make him feel better, and could I order him in some Won Ton Soup? I was a little irritated by his request, especially after he declined the Campbell’s Chicken and Rice Soup I had on hand, but I started to call my favorite Chinese Food Take Out place. As he heard me on the phone he said, “No, no, I don’t want it from there, I want it from Xian.”

All I could think was ‘Okay you broke fucker, you come over ‘sick’ wanting Won Ton Soup, and now my dive bar Chinese Food place isn’t good enough for your broke boy ass? You want me to spring for Xian from Beverly Fucking Hills?’ and I gave him a nasty look and said “Too late, it’s on it way.” (Seriously, WTF!)

His broke boy ass had now been escalated to the critical level on my ‘reasons to flee SHIT list’ and I felt incredibly taken advantage of at that moment.

A few days later, we had plans to watch the Lakers Game together. Now don’t get too excited, we weren’t watching it at the Staples Center, or even in a bar, but at my house AGAIN, with me picking up food on my way home from work so broke boy could enjoy his favorite snacks and beer during the game. I got everything ready, and before I knew it the game had started. I called to see where he was, texted, and there was no response.

By the time the game was over, I was so upset wondering where the fuck he was, that I had drank about two thirds of a bottle of Cabernet by myself. As the game ended, the phone rang, and Harrison was on his way over. He had decided, last minute he professed, to watch the game with a friend. You know, I wouldn’t have cared if he had wanted to watch it with his friend, but to make plans with me and to have so little respect for me to not even call and cancel, or to have done the right thing and made plans to see his friend another time, put the final nail in the coffin on my ‘reasons to flee’ list.

By the time the doorbell rang, Harrison didn’t know it but this broke boy was–DONE!!

As he entered, I had a go at him, and hurled repressed and hurt feelings from the past 8 week of dating as to why this little song and dance was ending: “You dissed me, you disrespected my time.” “You disrespected me by not calling; I could have made my own plans!” “You fucked up!”

Then the soup thing came up, and the split hamburger thing came up, and the amount of money I had spent came up, and then for my ‘piece de resistance’ I said:

“You know, Harrison, I don’t know what we were even thinking. Our dogs can’t be in the same room together without your mangy mutt trying to kill my precious, sweet, and innocent little pure bread doggie! And guess what, he wouldn’t want to kill Canoli if his testosterone filled testicles weren’t dangling and flailing about. You are an irresponsible dog owner for not neutering your dog – or were you planning to breed that mutt?”

Damn, I went for the jugular – I was horrible, I felt ashamed of myself after he left. I tried to emasculate him and his dog in one fell swoop. I was like a volcano that had been building up for thousands of years and finally blew. I had officially annihilated Harrison’s Broke Boy butt!

And of course, that was the last I saw of Harrison, and Canoli and I started to walk in a new direction to avoid him. I realized at this point that I was no longer dating surfer boys, broke boys, or super-hot boys just because they were super-hot boys;I was only dating men that were really potential partners who fit in with my life. I needed a man who had a direction, a purpose, and a solid plan. I came to the realization that I worked too hard to be with someone who didn’t have their shit together.

Now….Back to my dinner with my colleague….

After I finished my long winded diatribe to alter my colleague elitist’s summarization of my character, he simply stated that he ‘Got it.’ I am not sure if really got it, or if he just never wanted an explanation of any kind from me ever again.

And the moral of this Broke Boy story is….

Only date men who have their shit together mentally and emotionally, and who are financially headed in an upward direction; otherwise, you will get stuck in their shit with them and unable to move forward in your own life.

While I don’t judge people on what they do for a living, our time on this planet is short, and sometimes it sucks to realize that what you need in for your life might not always make you politically correct; but if you don’t honor your needs first, then you are really dishonoring yourself.

And as my friend told me at the time, okay Janell …NO more, Tom, Dicks or Harry’s for you! Amen! (Double inside joke here for some of my friends out there!)